in cut, its tweed of the best quality, but, to a discerning female eye, out of date. The professor probably hadn’t a discerning eye, indeed he had observed that she dressed sensibly, which, considering that he had only seen her in uniform and the brown velvet and blue crêpe, proved her point. It would have to be the tweed. This important decision having been made, she felt free to wonder why he wanted to spend a day with her. She refused to take seriously his remarks about her being a suitable wife. He must have friends here in London even if he was Dutch; he had seemed on very easy terms with Colonel Vosper and surely if he wanted a day out he would have chosen someone like Margaret, guaranteed to be an amusing companion besides having a pretty face and the right clothes.
She got out of her uniform slowly, and, no longer wishing for her supper, got into a dressing-gown and went along to the kitchenette to make a pot of tea and eat the rest of the rich tea biscuits left in the packet. Waiting for the kettle to boil, she put her name down for bread and butter and marmalade for her breakfast, which the nurses’ home maid would bring over and leave in the kitchenette. She was hunting round for milk when several of her friends came off duty after supper.
‘You’re not ill, are you?’ asked Lucy. ‘You never miss meals.’
‘I’m fine, I wasn’t hungry. I’ve got days off anyway.’
She wished she hadn’t said that, for Mary asked in her nosy way, ‘Going home, are you?’
‘No.’
‘Got a date?’
She didn’t need to think of an answer for someone said, gently teasing, ‘Of course she has. The Governor of the Bank of England; lunch off a gold plate at the Ritz and dinner and dancing with minor royalty…’
There was a chorus of laughter and Mary said huffily, ‘You all talk such nonsense.’ She thumped down her mug and went away, and presently the rest of them wandered away to wash their hair, do their nails and argue as to who should have the hairdrier first. Trixie nipped into one of the bathrooms before anyone else had laid claim to it, and soaked in the bath, wishing that she had said a firm ‘no’ to the professor’s invitation—not an invitation, really, more an order which he had taken for granted would be obeyed. She was pondering ways and means of letting him know that she wouldn’t be able to join him in the morning when repeated impatient thumps on the door forced her to get out of the bath.
‘You’ve been in there hours,’ said Mary. ‘You’re the colour of a lobster too. You’ll probably get a chill; a good thing you’ve got days off.’
Trixie took the pins out of her hair and let it fall in a soft brown curtain around her shoulders. ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ she agreed cheerfully, and went off to drink more tea with such of her friends as hadn’t gone to bed. Later, in her room, curled up in her bed, she found the chapter on endocrinology and read it carefully. The professor would probably discuss the subject nearest his heart and it might help to sustain a sensible conversation if she had some idea of the subject. She had had several lectures on it; indeed, the professor himself had delivered one of them, using so many long words that she had dozed off halfway through and had had to be prodded awake when he had finished.
It took her a little time to go to sleep, her head being full of any number of facts concerning ductless glands all nicely muddled.
In the light of an early November morning, the whole thing seemed absurd. Nevertheless, Trixie ate her toast and drank her tea and got into the tweed, did her hair and face with extra care, and, as nine o’clock struck, went down to the front entrance.
The professor was there, sharing a copy of the Sun with the head porter. He handed his portion back and went to meet her. His good morning was cheerful if brief. ‘The variety of newspapers in this country is wide,’ he told her. ‘I do not as a rule read anything other than The Times or the Telegraph but I must admit that the paper I have just been reading is, to say the least, stimulating, though I must admit that the advertisements in the Dutch daily papers are even more revealing.’
He ushered her into the car and got in beside her but made no attempt to drive away. ‘It is an interesting fact,’ he informed her, ‘that I find myself able to talk to you without inhibitions.’ He didn’t wait for her reply. ‘Do you know the east coast at all? There is a most interesting village there, once a town swallowed by the sea; it is National Trust property so that we can, if we wish, walk for miles.’
Trixie said faintly, ‘It sounds very pleasant. I don’t know that part of the country at all.’
He started the car and after that had very little to say, not that there was much to say about the Mile End Road, Leytonstone, Wanstead Flats and so on to the A12, but when they reached Chelmsford he turned north and took the road through Castle Hedingham and on to Lavenham, and there he stopped at the Swan Hotel, remarking that it was time they had a cup of coffee. The road was a quiet one, the country was wide and the town was old and charming. Trixie had given up serious thoughts; she was enjoying herself, and, although they had had but desultory talk, she felt very much at ease with her companion. She got out of the car and sat in the old inn, drinking her coffee and listening to his informed talk about the town.
‘Do you know this part of England well?’ she asked.
‘I do, yes. You see, it reminds me of my own country.’ He smiled at her and passed his cup for more coffee.
‘Wouldn’t you like to live in Holland?’
‘I do for a great deal of the time. I have, as it were, a foot in both camps. Do you know the Continent at all?’
‘My aunt and uncle took me to France while I was still at school. Paris.’
She remembered that she hadn’t enjoyed it much because she had had to do what Margaret wanted all the time and Margaret had no wish to look at old buildings and churches, only wanted to walk down the Rue de Rivoli and spend hours in the shops. ‘That’s all,’ she added flatly. ‘I expect you’ve travelled a lot?’
‘Well, yes. I go where I’m needed.’
They drove on presently and now he took the car through a network of side roads, missing Stowmarket and not joining the main road again until they had almost reached the coast, and presently they turned into a narrow country road which led eventually to a tree-shaded area where the professor parked the car. ‘This is where we get out and walk,’ he told Trixie, and got out to open her door. She could see the sea now and the village behind a shingle bank and low cliffs. It looked lonely and bleak under the grey sky, but the path they took was sheltered and winding, leading them into the village street. ‘Lunch?’ asked the professor, and took her by the arm and urged her into the Ship Inn.
He had been there before; he was greeted cheerfully by the stout cheerful man behind the bar, asked if he would like his usual and what would the young lady have?
Trixie settled for coffee and a ploughman’s lunch and sat down near the open fireplace. While she ate it, the professor talked of the history of the village, once a Saxon and then a Roman town, long swallowed up by the sea. Between mouthfuls of cheese he assured her that the bells of numerous churches long since drowned by the encroaching seas were still to be heard tolling beneath the waves. ‘There is a monastery along the cliffs; we will walk there presently and on to the Heath.’
They set out in a while with a strong wind blowing into their faces and the North Sea grey below the cliffs. The surge of the waves breaking on the shingle was almost as loud as the wind soughing among the trees. The professor had tucked her hand into his and was marching along at a good pace.
